The Sun Will Rise Again
by Stelra Etnae
Summary: He had failed them once before - Vincent and Rachel's deaths had become one of his greatest regrets. For a long while he had run away from it, but now he realized that hiding in past was never where he was meant to be. Not when their son was looking straight at him, with sapphire blue eyes so similar to generations past. (Sequel to The Sun Never Sets)


_**Hi everyone! Here's me back with another crossover fic!**_

 _ **I'm still really amazed about the great response I got for "The Sun Never Sets", with so many of you asking for a continuation. It's taken me a long while to write this, but it's finally here, and with a Christmas theme just in time for Christmas too! So Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year, everyone! Here's my present to all of you!**_

 _ **Direct sequel to "The Sun Never Sets", but can also be read as a stand-alone. (Not compliant with "Sweet Child of Mine")**_

* * *

It was that time of the year once again, and the grand halls of the Phantomhive Manor had been lavishly decked in Christmas style. Pots of vibrantly red poinsettia lined both sides of the hallway in neat rows, interspersed with glittering wreaths on the walls that hung between elegantly framed paintings of the winter scenery. The wine red carpet underfoot was plush and spotless, a clear sign that the servants were dedicated in their work. Guests to the Phantomhive's Christmas Ball, walking through the hallway to reach the ballroom where the function was being held, would all have taken the moment to admire the splendid décor specially set out for the occasion.

The stunning imagery continued – no, _heightened_ as they reached the ballroom. The marble floor had been shined to the point of gleaming, almost sparkling as it reflected the light of the chandeliers. Small round tables were arranged around the perimeter of the ballroom, their shimmering silver tablecloths giving the illusion of freshly-fallen snow, the effect only complemented by the accompanying chairs upholstered in silver brocade. An enormous Christmas tree formed the centerpiece of the display, decorated in silver and gold to match the theme.

The most recently arrived guest, a young man with startlingly green eyes and blond hair combed for the occasion to a more formal style than he usually wore it, smiled at the sight. Certainly Rachel had outdone herself this year.

He let the footman at the door announce his arrival as he stepped into milling crowd of guests, pausing here and there to exchange pleasantries with those who called out greetings. It had been a good four years since he had last attended such a ball in his homeland, but it appeared that many still remembered him, unchanged as he was.

"Arthur!"

At the call of his name, the man turned to meet familiar sapphire blue eyes. His smile blossomed bright and genuine as he sketched out an elegant bow.

"Lady Midford. Lovely as always. Surely you cannot have aged a day since I last saw you."

Frances' usually-stern countenance broke into a rare smile as she let him press a perfunctory kiss to the back of her hand. "This coming from you, who sat us upon his knee as babes to sing us to sleep, yet still looks all of twenty-one."

England's lips swept into a roguish grin, pale lashes shadowing twinkling green eyes as he straightened.

"Shush now, Frances, that's our little secret."

A small movement attracted his attention. England's eyes dropped to find a young child peeking shyly from behind Frances' skirts, bright blond hair tied up in pigtails with wide silk ribbons that matched her pretty dress of white lace. His smile widened.

"Could this be Elizabeth? She's grown so much!"

"She just turned five recently. Say hello to Sir Kirkland, Elizabeth."

"Hello," the little girl stared up with huge curious eyes at the smiling man, before suddenly recovering herself and fumbling to drop a curtsy like her mother had taught her, the action still clumsy with lack of practice.

"Charmed! The honor is mine, Lady Elizabeth." He bent and lifted her small hand to his lips just as if she was a proper court lady, making her blush artlessly. Frances looked on fondly at the exchange between her daughter and the man who she and Vincent had come to view as a father figure after their father had died young.

"Have you seen Vincent yet, Arthur?"

"Not since I arrived."

Frances smiled behind her fan. "Goodness. Such negligence as a host."

England matched her light tone, eyes sparkling with the exasperated fondness they both shared. "Indeed, such reproachable manners, is it not? Surely we had taught him better."

Laughter sounded behind him even as those playful words left his lips.

"Must you always be discussing my shortcomings, you two? I thought I had left that behind after I turned of age."

England made a show of huffing. "Of age or not, you're still no more than a child in my eyes, _boy_."

Grinning widely, Vincent caught him in a warm hug, heedless of their fine clothes. "It's good to see you, Arthur."

As he returned the hug, England couldn't help but raise one gloved hand to smooth back Vincent's dark hair, just like he used to when Vincent was still a child. But Vincent was a grown man now, standing a fair inch taller than England even and with a family of his own.

"Papa!"

Turning in response to the call, Vincent's smile was brilliant as he swung his son into his arms as the young boy ran to him, a prettily painted toy in his chubby hands.

"Papa, see, Uncle Chlaus gave me this ship!"

"That's a very nice ship! Did you say thank you to Uncle Chlaus?"

"I did!"

The dark-haired man's eyes lit up with a bit of mischief. He turned back so that the child faced England. "Say, Ciel, why don't you ask Uncle Arthur here to tell you more about ships? You see," Vincent shared in a loud stage whisper in response to Ciel's wide inquiring eyes. "Uncle Arthur is a _pirate_."

England spluttered in protest ( _"I'll have you know that the correct term is_ privateer _—"_ ), but was instantly drowned out by Ciel's gasp of delight.

"Uncle Arthur, Uncle Arthur! Tell me a story about pirates? Please?"

With great aplomb, Vincent promptly deposited his son into England's arms. Extensive experience with young children over the centuries made England automatically shift to hold the boy more stably, but not without shooting Vincent a dirty look at the obvious manipulation. Said degenerate of a father just smiled back innocently. Ciel, for his part, showed no complaint at the manner with which he had been manhandled. England swallowed back a sudden lump in his throat at the feeling of small arms wrapping trustingly around the back of his neck and the gentle warmth against his chest.

He returned Vincent and Frances' amused gazes with a flat-eyed stare that told them that he clearly remembered raising them better. They both looked wholly unrepentant, ungrateful children. He sighed minutely. Well, if he was doing this he might as well do it properly. England shifted the boy in his arms to free out a hand, holding it out to the other child with a smile. "Would you like to come with us, Lady Elizabeth?"

After brief moment where the girl glanced uncertainly up at her mother for permission, she took the offered hand with a still shy but happy smile. England's eyes gentled further. The small hand in his was so very, very warm.

They found a comfortable chaise in the anteroom, away from the loud chatter in the ballroom. England lifted the both of them onto his lap, stirring memories of times when he had done the same for a certain pair of children who had since then grown into adults, and many others before them.

No matter how many years passed, the bright expectant eyes of the young would always be the same. He smiled as he began.

"This is the story of Captain Kirkland and his adventures in a strange desert land, where the sun shone as hot as summer in the month of December."

* * *

Ciel opened his eyes, staring up at the canopied cover of his bed, lit up by the morning sun.

A dream… No, a memory, from a long time ago. A simpler, happier time.

Ciel's brows furrowed as he let Sebastian dress him for the day. That man… Upon being officially instated as the Earl of Phantomhive, Ciel had sought out each member from the extensive network of connections that he had inherited from his predecessor, reestablishing professional relationships with Chlaus, Diedrich, Undertaker and more. None of the contacts however had led him this man who had appeared in his dream, despite the apparent closeness he had held with the family.

Ciel couldn't quite remember the man's face anymore, nothing except for his bright green eyes. Those green eyes… His mind flashed back to that brief encounter a week ago, a stranger in the Queen's receiving room. Eyes of clear bright green like the rolling fields of the English countryside in late spring, the sunlit grass around Phantomhive Manor.

"Sebastian, find me all available information on the man who had an audience with the Queen before me last week."

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

"Arthur?"

"Ah, Chlaus." England turned and clasped his old friend's hand warmly. "It's good to see you. It's been a long time."

The German man continued to stare at him quite unabashedly. "A long time indeed... My God, when Vincent first told me of you I could hardly believe it, but you really don't age, do you?"

"Not at a rate that would be perceivable by you, no."

Chlaus shook his head, still half in disbelief. "But what are you doing here? You have not had much contact with Ciel, have you?"

England smiled. "We ran into each other by chance at Her Majesty's receiving rooms last month, and I daresay I piqued the young Earl's interest. Just two weeks later I received a personal invitation to a Christmas Ball at the Phantomhive Manor."

An amused quirk of the lips. "Like a dog with a scent."

England's eyes twinkled in return. "Only the nation's best."

They parted ways, Chlaus returning to mingle among the guests, England choosing instead to stand in a quiet corner, watching the twirling dancers on the floor. So bright, so merry, in a place which held some of his deepest regrets. Even as he stood half out of sight, she unerringly found him anyway, bearing down on him with icy blue eyes.

"Arthur."

He sketched a practiced bow. "Lady Midford, as always your unchanging beauty leaves me in awe."

Frances snapped her fan shut impatiently. "Don't you feed me that balderdash. What I want to know is what you mean by not showing your face even after your return. And you've been back for almost a year, Midford saw you in court."

England's gaze moved across the ballroom, to where the host of the ball was dancing with his fiancée, a striking pair in matching pale green evening wear. They had grown so much from when he had last seen them, but still so, so young.

"I wondered if I still had the right," he said, almost too quiet to be heard over the music.

Frances' voice was gentler this time, annoyance fading away something sadder. "Arthur. You were away at sea at the time, in service to the crown. No one could have foreseen what happened."

No? But what was the use of being the personification of a proud empire, when he could not even protect his own?

He remembered warm arms around his neck, and a boy who had fallen asleep curled up against his side as the night dragged on and England told one story after another. He remembered a shy little girl peeking out from behind her mother's skirts, and sparkling green eyes staring up at him with the pure innocence of one who had yet to experience any kind of loss.

What did Elizabeth's eyes look like now? Had they turned jaded, like Ciel's had become?

"I had begun to wonder," he said softly. "If it was a curse that came from standing by my side. That by entwining your fates with mine, I had only brought you sorrow."

"Is that why you distanced yourself from Ciel?"

England was silent, did not deny it.

Frances gazed out into the crowd. "Perhaps it is true, that Vincent would have lived a longer, kinder life if he hadn't been the Queen's Watchdog. Perhaps my mother would have as well. It is true as well, that the fate of the Phantomhive house has become tied to yours. But hear this, Arthur," her voice sharpened, forcing his full attention. "It was not your choice that brought us here, but our own. Every successive generation of Phantomhives has made their choice, and that choice has always been to serve the nation. Just like his predecessors, Ciel has already long made his choice. And it is one that would benefit from you supporting him."

Silence fell for a long moment before England laughed weakly, but there was a brightness returning to his eyes behind the self-deprecation. "Ah, to think there would come the day that I would be soundly scolded by you, Frances."

Frances huffed in fond exasperation. "Considering that I now look twice your age, I'm allowed to dole out some matronly advice when it's clear you're being idiotically stubborn." She smiled at him, bittersweet. "And Arthur… it was not only sorrow that you brought us. Do you not remember the days you spent playing hide-and-seek with Vincent and I in the gardens, or the time when we found you with Ciel and Elizabeth tucked against your side, having told them stories until they fell asleep? Elizabeth was in raptures about your stories for weeks. That is what life is, isn't it, to share both sorrow and joy?"

England looked taken aback at her words. They stood in silence until the music faded to a halt, signaling the end of the dance and the start of another.

Frances let her closed fan drop to dangle on its ribbon from her wrist. "Now I expect at least one dance from you tonight, in repayment for your dismal lack of attendance these past years. Hopefully all those years spent across the sea haven't completely eroded your dance skills."

England's emerald eyes glittered with laughter as he obediently gave her his arm to lead her out to the dance floor where sets were forming for a quadrille. "Don't forget who it was who taught you how to dance, child."

Given the manipulative ways of the two Phantomhive siblings he had helped raise (or all Phantomhives, really, it did seem to be quite the family trait), he was not at all surprised to find himself faced with two pairs of wide eyes, one sapphire blue and the other emerald green. He wondered if they recognized him from their memories, were startled by how he had remained unaged. Ciel checked his surprise quickly, exchanging a polite greeting.

Ah, Elizabeth's eyes were older, but still bright and clear, still seeking out beauty in the world. He raised her hand briefly to his lips, and perhaps there was a flicker of recognition there, the stirring of a memory.

Later, he sat across the desk from the boy he had once cradled in his arms, sharp blue eyes watching him. Sapphire blue eyes that were so different, yet so much the same.

"My name is Arthur Kirkland, the personification of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, and the British Empire. For centuries the Phantomhive House has served me, as I too have served them in turn."

Perhaps he had failed them before. And perhaps he would fail them again. Even he could not predict the future. But he had decided now, that what he could give them, he would.

"So tell me, Earl Phantomhive, how may I help you?"

* * *

 ** _(Yes I'm evil and I really ended it on that note.)_**

 ** _As always, reviews are very much appreciated!_**


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